The flowers wither.
The sky cries.
is it any wonder
I grow tired of this world?
Even the moon wanes
and the stars fade.
The time for
choosing is come.
There is no beauty.
There is no peace.
Hours flow by
like sand tonight.
It is too soon, too soon!
My heart grips and shatters,
while my mind idly stares
like painted eyes on porcelain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem